Symptoms of Love
by pushing pansies
Summary: "Tate had never been a gentle person in life or in death, but he wanted to be for Violet, especially for her first time." A Violet/Tate one-shot. Rated M for sexuality and language.


Tate had never been a gentle person in life or in death, but he wanted to be for Violet, especially for her first time. Even though it was in his nature to ravage and dominate, Violet was the first person he had any desire to put over himself._ A symptom of love_, he thought.

In Violet's room, dust moats floated in the dim shafts of yellow light streaming through the windows around them as they sat across from each other on the bed. Tate kept his eyes on Violet's as he methodically undid the buttons of her blouse. Every passing second that she didn't push him away was a small miracle to Tate. He continued watching her face for signs of apprehension or hesitancy even as he brushed the blouse off her shoulders, as he unclasped and removed her bra one-handed, as he helped her from her jeans; but Violet, fearless as always, just stared back at him, challenging him with her eyes.

"Well this is really fair," she said, motioning toward Tate, who was still fully clothed.

Tate gave a twisted smirk. "When have I ever played fair, Vi?"

He slipped a hand into her underwear and palmed the bundle of nerves he found there. Tate watched her mouth part, her eyes flutter shut, her head loll backwards with a quiet moan. In a life where he had only caused people grief and misery, to give Violet pleasure nearly made Tate come undone. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and a hundred times more satisfying than any killing ever had been. Tate, even though he told himself he would be careful and soft with her, fisted his hand in her hair and brought his mouth down hard onto Violet's, unable to control himself.

Violet felt herself come alive when Tate caught her mouth with his. Lately, she had felt so numb; she had almost forgotten how much she could really ache for something. The last time she could remember feeling this way was when she had tried to seduce Tate. It had just been them that Halloween night though, on a lip of sand at the beach - alone and miles away from Murder House. The conditions of that night had swayed her into an impulsive and bold state of mind - conditions that could not be recreated in this place. There was the heat from bonfire, the hissing, popping wood feeding it; there was the lazy crashing sound of the Pacific finding the shoreline; there was Tate, his warm tongue slipping in and out of Violet's mouth, his breathlessness, his eager hips pressing into hers. That night, he was warmer than she had ever felt his skin before, and she wanted him closer, as close as he could get. He had stopped Violet, though, from losing herself in that delicious feeling of skin on skin. He had pushed her away, in her mind. She couldn't have him then, but here, in this house with stagnant, trapped air and dust floating around them, with the feeling of someone always watching, he wanted to have her. But maybe it didn't matter where they were, she told herself. All she wanted was him, anyways.

As Tate trailed hot, open mouthed kisses and hard bites down her tender throat to the swell of her breasts, Violet slipped her hand to the front of his pants like she had at the beach. She wasn't as confident as she had been then, what with the sting of rejection still a vivid memory, but this time he was hard and straining against his zipper. At her touch, he muffled a groan onto her flushed chest and pushed himself harder into her palm.

He climbed off the bed and frantically pulled off his t-shirt and clumsily shucked off his pants and boxers, almost tripping in the process. Violet laughed.

Tate smiled in good humor, but then added, "You won't be laughing for long, Vi." Violet was drinking his beautiful bare skin in as he stalked back toward the bed, an intense glint in his eye. _The devil is real, and he is beautiful, _Violet thought. He pressed her body flat against the bed so their chests were skimming against each other's. "You'll be screaming."

Tate kissed down her body until he was between her thighs. Violet's stomach was dropping with nervousness and anticipation. No one had done this to her before. Tate moved the crotch of her panties to one side and licked up the length of her sex and then swirled lazy circles around her clit, causing her hips to buck against him. She tried to muffle her moans into a pillow when Tate sucked the electrified bundle of nerves into his warm mouth, but he abruptly pulled away from her and tossed the pillow across the room. She groaned from the lack of contact.

He looked at her from between her legs. "Please Vi," he said, looking at her in the eye as he gave the sensitive bud another short, languid stroke with his tongue. "I want to hear what I'm doing to you. I want to hear everything."

Violet's legs shook and she could only nod. Tate smiled in that wicked way of his as he lowered his mouth back down onto her. He teased her with his tongue, and pumped his long fingers into her. On occasion, he'd gently nip at her sex. Violet was moaning loudly and panting as she tangled her fingers into his moppish blonde hair and pulled his mouth closer. "Fuck, Tate," she hissed. He was surprised, but pleased, that she seemed to be approaching an orgasm, considering she was a virgin. Maybe it was a ghost thing, he thought.

Violet was shaking with pleasure, but she wanted more. So, just before he sent her over the edge, she pulled his mouth back up to hers. Tate slipped her panties down her legs, and she kicked them the rest of the way off. He was hovering over her, a hungry look in his eye as he took in the sight of her small, naked body under him, her legs held open for him, her sex glinting wet. More than most things, Violet loved the way Tate looked at her. Sometimes the want she saw in his eyes, his desire to consume her, was enough to frighten her, but alongside his appetite there was need, there was unhindered love.

Violet, suddenly feeling confident, took Tate's hard length into her hand and placed the head of it against her own sex. She watched him carefully, trying to memorize everything about him in this moment. Tate screwed his eyes shut at the feeling; his pink mouth parted and a delicious groan came from him. She stroked him and herself between her folds, loving the warmth and firmness of him against her. Tate drew his bottom lip between his teeth and hissed in pleasure.

"God, I want you," he said, looking at her with longing.

Violet spread her legs a little further - a silent consent. Tate took himself into his own hand and placed it at her entrance.

"If I hurt you-"

Violet cut him off with her mouth. "Shut up and have me already," she said, grinding against him.

Tate smirked at her aggressiveness, and then pushed himself inside her. He watched her face for any sign of pain, but there was none.

"Oh, god," she breathed, her mouth twisting into a relieved looking smile. She held Tate's body close against her and kissed his neck as he pushed in and out of her.

Tate had had sex before, but it was nothing like this. Before, sex had been another weapon in his arsenal - just a means to an end. But with Violet, for once in his life he felt truly connected to someone and it was being reciprocated.

"I love you," Tate whispered into her hair, as he picked up the pace.

"I know," Violet replied, her hands pressing against his back, beckoning him for something harder, faster.

Tate pinned her arms above her head with one hand and pounded away hard against her, chasing both her climax and his own. He moved his hand between them, putting pressure against her most sensitive spot with his thumb. When Violet came, she came violently and calling out to him, and Tate followed a moment after. They stifled their last moans against one another's mouths.

Tate collapsed on top of her, his hot breath fogging against her throat. Violet wrapped her legs around him, wishing things could always be like this.


End file.
